The Young Trawler

It was no solemn meeting that. Shore-going folk, who are too apt to connect religious gatherings with Sunday clothes, subdued voices, and long faces, would have had their ideas changed if they had seen it. Men of the roughest cast, mentally and physically, were there, in heavy boots and dirty garments, laughing and chatting, and greeting one another; some of the younger among them sky-larking in a mild way – that is, giving an occasional poke in the ribs that would have been an average blow to a land-lubber, or a tip to a hat which sent it on the deck, or a slap on the back like a pistol-shot. There seemed to be no humbug, as the saying goes, among these men; no pretence.